


All This Time

by SharkbaitHooHaHa



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A little bit of angst with a happy ending, Fluff, Get there faster Crowley, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21523945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkbaitHooHaHa/pseuds/SharkbaitHooHaHa
Summary: Aziraphale has a husband. This is news to Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 452
Collections: Asexual Good Omens





	All This Time

When Crowley first heard Aziraphale make any sort of mention of having a husband, it was on a sunny afternoon just a few short months after the averted apocalypse. Crowley was lounging in an armchair by the window, dozing in the sun, while Aziraphale chatted with his favorite type of customer: the kind that had only come in to browse.

He didn’t pick up the comment that preceded it, but Aziraphale’s casual ‘oh, yes, my husband is always after me about that’ followed by a gentle laugh rang loudly in his ears, startling him out of his half-asleep state.

Since when did Aziraphale have a _husband_? And more importantly, why didn’t Crowley know about him until now?!

He lurched to his feet in such a chaotic and panicked way that Aziraphale interrupted his conversation to glance over at him across the shop. “My poor dear, are you quite alright? You look pale.” 

He stepped around the just-browser and moved to stand in front of Crowley. Reaching out, he gently touched the back of his fingers against first one cheek then the other before finally coming to rest on his forehead. He frowned. “Are you feeling ill? You’re not warm…”

“Uhhhhhh,” Crowley said eloquently, because how do you tell your best friend that you didn’t know he was married until just this moment and now your heart was shattering in a million pieces because you were in love with him, too? “I- I- I just remembered, uhh, I have to be at…” Think, Crowley! Think! Something reasonable! “A bookstore.” Nailed it. “A _different_ bookstore.”

And then he was all but running out of the shop leaving a startled and confused bookseller in his wake.

The next time this mysterious husband came up was a couple weeks later, as Aziraphale made small talk with the lady behind the counter while Crowley paid for their tickets to the newest exhibition at the National Gallery.

“Oh, I’m really looking forward to it,” Aziraphale was saying. “You know, my husband and I knew the artist.” 

Crowley dropped his change as the cashier handed it back to him, sending coins scattering all over the pavement. He had been married since the _renaissance?_ _How had he missed this?_ Worse, why had he let Crowley spend all that time _hoping?_

Crowley’s spirits, which had been relatively high at the idea of spending a whole day with Aziraphale, quickly plummeted, and this fact didn’t escape Aziraphale’s notice as he immediately turned his attention to Crowley.

“Darling, what happened?” he asked, his brow creased in worry.

“’sss nothing,” Crowley mumbled, no heart behind his words. “‘m fine.”

“You’re clearly not,” Aziraphale insisted. “Come on, we’re going home.” He grabbed Crowley firmly by the arm and pulled him close as he maneuvered him away from the ticket counter.

“But the exhibit…” Crowley protested weakly. 

“We can always come back, dear,” Aziraphale said as he patted him reassuringly on the arm.

After that, the husband came up in conversations more and more. As Aziraphale ordered dessert at The Ritz, or to the delivery woman who dropped off Aziraphale’s latest book shipment, even as he babbled nonsense at the ducks while throwing them food, .

Finally, Crowley had had enough. “So when can I meet him?” he asked one day as Aziraphale balanced his checkbook.

“Meet who, dear?” Aziraphale responded distractedly.

“Your _husssband_ ,” Crowley said, trying and failing not to sound too sour about it.

At this, Aziraphale looked up, peering at Crowley in confusion over the rims of the glasses perched on the end of his nose. “My…?”

“Why haven’t I met him before?” Crowley stood to begin pacing the small space of the back room. “Why didn’t you tell me you got married? Is it because you know that I’m in love with you?”

Belatedly, Crowley realized that if Aziraphale hadn’t known, he certainly did now. But there was no taking it back, and he wouldn’t even if there were, so he pressed on. “Because if so, then don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine! I just-” And then he stopped, his arms which had been gesturing this way and that dropping lifelessly to his sides. He turned to look at Aziraphale and whatever his face looked like, it must have been devastating, because the angel put his hand to his mouth and made a sound of dismay. “I just want you to be happy.”

Aziraphale was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing Crowley’s hands in his own and looking at him with a pained expression. “Dearest, _no!_ ” He pulled Crowley’s hands to his face and pressed his lips against his knuckles. “You’re my husband!”

Crowley stared. “I- You- _What?_ Since when?!”

“For about ten or twelve hundred years, now, give or take a century or two?” He pondered. “When _did_ we start the Arrangement?”

“The Arrangement was never a marriage, Angel!”

“The Arrangement was _always_ a marriage, Crowley. Did you even _read_ the contract I drew up?”

“Oh course I did,” Crowley said defensively. “I know it mentioned marriage, but it’s not _that_ kind of marriage.”

Aziraphale cocked a brow. “Then what kind of marriage _is_ it, do you suppose?”

“You know, i-i-i-i-iiiiit’s the kind where- Well, what it is is a joining, or really more of a union- Okay, so when two people… _Oh_.”

“Oh?”

“ _We’re married!_ ”

“Yes, dear.”

“Like, _married_ married!”

“Indee- Crowley, where are we going?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley grabbed his hand excitedly and began leading him out the front door.

Crowley grinned from ear to ear. “Our honeymoon!”

“Ooh, can we get crepes?”

“You can have all the bloody crepes you want, Angel,” Crowley said as they climbed into the Bentley. “I will build you a whole mountain of crepes, if that’s what you wish, just… Can…” He gripped the steering wheel, suddenly self-conscious. “Can you say it again?”

Aziraphale smiled warmly and looked him right in the eye. “Crowley, you are my husband.”

“Your husband,” Crowley echoes wistfully.

“And the light of my life.”

Crowley flushed.“What?”

“And my whole world.”

Was he engulfed in flames? Because it sure felt like it. “Ngk.”

“And absolutely perfect.”

Crowley started the engine. “Stop.”

But Aziraphale didn’t stop, not as they drove down to the docks to catch a ferry, nor as they dined on the finest crepes in all of Paris, nor as they settled into their home in the South Downs, nor for the rest of their long, eternal marriage. He never stopped. But, to be fair, neither did Crowley.


End file.
